


hey, hey, hey, come pollinate me

by suzukiblu



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Curse Breaking, Curses, Dubious Consent, F/M, First Time, First Time Bottoming, Fluff and Smut, Fuck Or Die, Humor, M/M, Multi, Pet Play, Polyamory, Praise Kink, Sex Pollen, Top Jaskier | Dandelion, Voyeurism, voyeur!Yennefer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:33:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22577869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suzukiblu/pseuds/suzukiblu
Summary: "Jaskier," he says, and Jaskier freezes mid-struggle and tips his head back against the tree to look up at him."Geralt," he says, his eyes hazy and his voice a low rumble. Geralt looks at him in silence, not sure what to say. "Oh, my handsome wolf, come to eat me up?"Jaskier is definitely not in his right mind.
Relationships: Background Geralt/Yennefer, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, implied Geralt/Jaskier/Yennefer - Relationship
Comments: 153
Kudos: 3720
Collections: The Witcher, Yaas





	hey, hey, hey, come pollinate me

**Author's Note:**

> Set in some vague handwave-y place between episodes five and six. No excuses for this one, I just wanted to write sex pollen and Geraskier and Yennefer, so I did.

"It's a curse," Yennefer says. "There's this flower—never mind, you don't need the particulars right now. But it's put an unnatural lust on him." 

"Unnatural," Geralt repeats, looking over to Jaskier, who's tied to a tree at the edge of the clearing they've camped in and struggling to break free. He smells like flowers, and not in the usual way of perfume or soap. 

"They're trying to distract you, clearly," Yennefer says. 

"Why didn't they put it on _me_ , then?" he asks. 

"Maybe they thought it wouldn't work on a witcher," she says. "Or maybe they thought this would be more . . . amusing." 

"Hn." Geralt looks at Jaskier again. He's panting for breath and still struggling. He's been struggling since Geralt woke up to him trying to climb all over him. He's not in his right mind by any stretch of the imagination. 

"I can't break the curse," Yennefer says. 

"How do I?" Geralt asks, because there must be _something_ they can do. Yennefer grimaces. 

"You don't," she says. "As far as I know, the only way to survive it is to burn through it." 

" _Survive_ it?" Geralt asks, a note of alarm bleeding into his voice. 

"It's . . . a fever, in a sense," she says. "Either he'll burn through it or it'll burn him out." 

"How do we help him?" Geralt says. 

"He might survive on his own," she says. "Sometimes people do." 

"That's not what I asked," Geralt says. Yennefer . . . grimaces, again. 

"We could give him what he wants," she says. 

". . . Yen," Geralt says. 

"I know," she says. "That's the only other way I know to handle it, though." 

Geralt looks at Jaskier. Jaskier is too busy struggling to notice. He looks feverish and glassy-eyed, skin and clothes damp with sweat and body painfully tense. 

"He's fixated on you," Yennefer says. "I can try, but . . ." 

"No," Geralt says. "I'll do it. You take care of the damn mage." 

"They're probably halfway across the continent," she says. 

"All the more reason for you to deal with them," Geralt says. 

"I could stay," she says, very close to hesitant. Geralt thinks about it, but only for a moment. 

"No," he says. That mage does need stopped, and it _is_ him Jaskier's fixated on. Yennefer can handle one rogue mage. And Jaskier . . . 

Well, Jaskier wouldn't have been anywhere _near_ the bastard, if not for Geralt. This is on him. 

“He probably won’t remember anything afterwards,” Yennefer says. “They usually don’t.” 

“Hn.” 

Yennefer kisses him, then steps through a portal. Geralt . . . he goes to Jaskier. 

"Jaskier," he says, and Jaskier freezes mid-struggle and tips his head back against the tree to look up at him. 

"Geralt," he says, his eyes hazy and his voice a low rumble. Geralt looks at him in silence, not sure what to say. "Oh, my handsome wolf, come to eat me up?" 

Jaskier is definitely not in his right mind. 

"Yennefer says there's only one way to help you," Geralt says. 

"Oh, well, if _Yennefer_ says," Jaskier says sarcastically, and almost seems like himself for a moment. Geralt's hands tighten into fists. That mage is going to die, he thinks to himself. Even if Yennefer doesn't find them, they're going to die. 

“Jaskier,” he says, dropping into a crouch to untie the other; locking eyes with him in the hope Jaskier will remember this later, if he’s not lucky enough to forget this altogether. “Do what you need to do.” 

“What I _need_ ,” Jaskier says, his hazy eyes gleaming. Geralt unties the rope around his chest and Jaskier immediately throws himself at him and kisses him. Geralt doesn’t kiss back, but makes his body stay receptive. “Oh, _Geralt_. You know just what I need, don’t you, my dearest?” 

Geralt does, obviously. It’s not subtle. 

“Hn,” he says. Jaskier kisses him again, pulling at his armor. He didn’t know Jaskier knew all the little fastenings of it so well—he finds each and every one quickly and unerringly, and piece by piece it all drops to the ground. Geralt . . . he lets it drop. 

“You taste _divine_ ,” Jaskier says, biting at his mouth. Geralt still doesn’t kiss back. If Jaskier remembers . . . he’s not sure which would be worse, if Jaskier remembers. Just letting him do as he pleases seems to be the best option out of too many bad ones. “Here I thought you were going to run off with your witch again, aren’t you _sweet_ to come back to me.” 

Geralt doesn’t say anything. Jaskier doesn’t seem concerned by that, but then, when does he ever? He shoves up Geralt’s shirt and drops down to bite at his chest, and Geralt grits his teeth against the way it feels. This is not the place to feel good, when Jaskier’s half out of his mind on immoral magics. 

Jaskier clearly knows just how to use his mouth to his advantage, though, and if he didn’t look drunk, Geralt might be able to enjoy it. He’s smelled lust on Jaskier before—often, even; it’s practically part of the baseline of Jaskier’s scent—but never this intense, never like _this_. He knows the other’s gotten into trouble in more than a few bedrooms, but _this_ . . . 

It’s not right. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier purrs, skimming his hands up his sides. Geralt doesn’t know what to expect from him. He wouldn’t know what to expect from Jaskier if he were in his right mind right now, much less this state. They’ve never done anything like this before. It never came up, and given how flirtatious Jaskier typically is towards any breathing woman, well—he obviously hadn’t been interested. 

Unfortunately, now he’s _very_ interested. 

Jaskier tugs at Geralt, and Geralt makes his body receptive and goes with it, and ends up on his stomach on the ground. It’s . . . not exactly what he was expecting. Jaskier hooks his hands in the waistband of his pants and drags them down around his thighs, and _that’s_ a little more what he was expecting, but . . . 

“Lovely,” Jaskier says admiringly, putting his hands on Geralt’s bared ass. Geralt bites back a grunt and digs his fingers into the ground. “If only I had some chamomile.” 

Geralt really is going to _murder_ that mage. 

“Very lovely,” Jaskier muses, running a thumb down the crack of Geralt’s ass. Geralt isn’t sure he likes the way this is going, but then again, he doubts he’d like _any_ way this went and the important part is that Jaskier doesn’t fucking _die_ , so fuck it. 

“Do what you need to do,” he says into the dirt, and Jaskier _purrs_. 

“Oh, I’m going to,” he says, and that’s all the warning Geralt gets before the other bites his ass. An instinctive curse escapes him and he jolts at the little almost-pain, and Jaskier drops a kiss there practically apologetically. Geralt digs his fingers into the ground again. 

It’s fine, he tells himself. Jaskier’s barely even in there, he’ll probably black all this out anyway, who knows if he’ll remember anything as damning as that curse, or anything else that Geralt might have trouble holding back? 

Jaskier drags the flat of his tongue over his hole. Geralt _curses_. Jaskier laughs, and does it again. It’s too fucking _sensitive_ and Geralt wants to shove him off and drag his pants back up and go _anywhere_ else, but—the fever. The fever, and Jaskier, and what’s going to happen if he can’t burn through it before it burns through him. 

It feels good. He _hates_ that it feels good. 

“I knew you’d like this,” Jaskier hums, and then he works his tongue _inside_ him and Geralt barely manages not to fucking _shout_. Jaskier worms a hand underneath him to wrap around his dick, which of course responds eagerly to the attention, and Geralt buries his face in the grass and dirt and grits his teeth painfully hard. Too much, too much, too _much_ — 

Jaskier strokes his cock and curls his tongue inside him and Geralt chokes, nails scrabbling in the dirt. This isn’t what he was expecting. Jaskier’s supposed to be too overwhelmed with lust to focus, to do anything else, so how the hell is he keeping it together enough to do _this_? He should already be _fucking_ him, if that’s what he wants. Geralt would be able to handle that. It’d hurt, he assumes, but that’d be fine. He’s used to things hurting. 

He’s not used to someone taking their fucking _time_ with him, but that’s exactly what Jaskier’s doing. He’s licking and mouthing at his hole and inside his body, stroking him off with easy, practiced movements, moaning and purring and _sighing_ the whole time, and he’s in no rush at all. Geralt might be about to lose _his_ mind, if this treatment keeps up. 

“Jaskier,” he growls, though he didn’t mean to say anything. 

“Mm?” Jaskier hums back at him. 

“Jaskier, don’t—” he starts, then cuts himself off. What the hell was he even going to say? Jaskier can’t help it. Jaskier’s in no _place_ to help it. 

“Don’t what?” Jaskier asks, still lazily stroking his cock. “Don’t do that? Don’t do this?” 

“Don’t _stop_ ,” Geralt hisses, to his own mortification. 

“Oh!” Jaskier sounds delighted. Geralt loathes that mage. He hopes Yennefer feeds them their _heart_. “I have a better idea, though. Come here. Oh, and pants off, can’t have those in the way.” 

“Mm?” Geralt lets Jaskier tug at him, making his body receptive again, and ends up naked from the waist down and straddling the other’s lap, of all places. 

It’s not a very subtle request. 

“Better, yes?” Jaskier says, grinning up at him as the spit-slick head of his cock rubs against Geralt’s oversensitive hole. 

“Hn,” Geralt says. 

“Always so eloquent,” Jaskier says. His cock, Geralt has noticed, is bigger than he would’ve expected it to be. Not that he’d actually been _expecting_ , just . . . maybe he’d have liked a little bit more preparation before this. 

Well, too late now, he thinks, forcing himself to relax his muscles because that’s the obvious thing to do and lowering his hips with a grunt of effort. It feels . . . strange, mostly. Burns a bit. Jaskier _purrs_ , running a hand up his back. 

“Just like that,” he sighs, then leans back on his hands and smirks up at him, the little _bastard_. Geralt glowers back at him before remembering that technically, Jaskier is not in control of himself right now. He shifts his hips testingly, trying to adjust, to take more of him, and Jaskier groans. “Oh, _good_ boy.” 

“I’m not a _dog_ ,” Geralt growls. Jaskier sighs happily and pushes a hand into his hair, curling his fingers behind his ear. 

“Good boy,” he repeats with a sly smirk. “Sit.” 

Geralt _glares_ at him. Jaskier laughs, dropping his hand to stroke across his chest. 

“Oh well, it was worth a shot,” he says teasingly, and still sounds enough like himself that Geralt could pretend he’d just had a couple drinks, if he wanted to. If Jaskier smelled like alcohol, and not unfamiliar flowers. “You can’t blame me, you’d look _lovely_ in a collar.” 

“Not funny,” Geralt grunts. He tries to bear down, take a little bit more of Jaskier, but it’s hard to make himself relax. Jaskier trails his hand down his stomach and wraps it around his cock like he’s done it a thousand times, and Geralt tries not to moan. He’s only so successful. Jaskier looks thrilled. 

“Are you _loud_?” he asks delightedly. “Geralt! You never told me you were _loud_!” 

“Shut up,” Geralt grunts, because it’s hard not to think of Jaskier as _Jaskier_ , even with him half out of his mind like this. Hard not to treat him the way he’d be treating him if, well . . . 

“Oh, I will,” Jaskier says, grinning widely at him as he strokes his cock. “I wouldn’t want to miss a sound.” 

Geralt bares his teeth at him. Jaskier twists his hand, and he barely bites back another moan. Jaskier pushes his thumb up under the head of his cock, and _that_ moan he can’t hold back. Jaskier lights up, and Geralt feels his face burn. Fucking— _bard_. 

“Not a word,” he says through gritted teeth, and Jaskier laughs. Geralt pushes down around the other’s cock with a rough shudder, and Jaskier laughs again, punched-out and breathless. 

“Oh, _Geralt_ ,” he purrs. He pushes a calloused finger across the head of his cock, lets it drag over his slit, and Geralt shudders harder and groans too loudly. Jaskier basks in it, bringing his other hand up to cup Geralt’s jaw in his hand. Geralt doesn’t lean into it. It’s not right, with Jaskier like this. He shouldn’t be taking any pleasure from this. 

That’d be easier if Jaskier would stop jacking him off, probably. 

“You don’t need to do that,” he rasps out, catching the other’s wrist. Jaskier kisses his chest; squeezes his cock. 

“It’ll be easier to take me if you come first,” Jaskier says, and Geralt can’t help shuddering again. His knees feel weak. “Mmm, you really _want_ to take me, don’t you. Don’t worry, you’re doing fine.” 

“Jaskier,” Geralt says tightly, teeth gritted again. 

“Right here,” Jaskier croons up at him, squeezing his cock again, and Geralt is _weak_ , and lets go of his wrist. Jaskier makes a delighted sound and immediately starts stroking again. “Be loud for me, Geralt. I want to hear it.” 

It’d be very easy to listen. Geralt doesn’t, pressing his mouth into a thin line. Jaskier gives him a mournful look, then a wicked one. 

“That’s alright,” he says. “I’ll just have to convince you the old-fashioned way.” 

Geralt doesn’t want to know what that means, except he really, really does. His cock is painfully hard, and Jaskier is stroking just slowly enough to keep him on the edge of coming without quite letting him get there. He’s biting his tongue to keep quiet, which is much harder than it should be with Jaskier’s clever fingers wrapped around him and Jaskier’s fucking _dick_ up his ass. 

Of course the bastard had to be well-hung. 

Jaskier twists his hand around him and shifts his hips up _into_ him and Geralt feels dizzy with it, immediately overheated and overwhelmed. 

_“Jaskier,”_ he gasps without meaning to, and grimaces in mortification as Jaskier lights up again. 

It doesn’t matter, he reminds himself. Jaskier won’t remember anyway. 

“Oh, I’ll never get sick of that,” Jaskier sighs happily. “Say it again?” 

“No,” Geralt says. Jaskier doesn’t seem dissuaded, still smiling warmly up at him in a way that goes straight to his cock. He doesn’t know how _that_ would turn him on, and yet . . . 

“Old-fashioned way it is,” Jaskier says, doing something _very_ clever with his fingers, and Geralt barely stifles a gasp. Jaskier pushes his hips up again, just enough that Geralt’s thighs instinctively spread further. “Oh, _good_ boy.” 

“Don’t call me that,” Geralt grits out. 

“But you are, you’re being _so_ good for me, puppy,” Jaskier purrs. This is _definitely_ not necessary for helping him through the fever, Geralt thinks accusingly. He’s not sure which one of them he’s accusing, though. “You want a treat?” 

“I’m learning too much about your kinks,” Geralt mutters. Jaskier laughs, putting a hand against his throat; letting his fingers spread across it. Geralt would expect to be choked, but that’s not what Jaskier does. He just . . . squeezes, just a little, and grins up at him. 

“I’d get you the prettiest collar,” he says. “So everyone would know you’re mine.” 

Geralt’s cock twitches. Jaskier’s grin widens. 

“Shut up,” Geralt says, and shoves him down flat against the ground and lifts his hips and _drops_ them in the kind of move he’s had women do to him before. Jaskier moans shamelessly and arches up into him. He doesn’t stop stroking his cock, because he’s a fucking _brat_. 

“Naughty,” Jaskier says, still grinning. 

“I’m not a pet,” Geralt says sharply. 

“Mmm, but wouldn’t you like to be?” Jaskier purrs. “You could sleep at the foot of my bed . . .” 

Geralt doesn’t pay attention to what that does to his cock. Doesn’t pay attention to what Jaskier’s saying at all. He yanks Jaskier’s hand off him and lifts his hips again, drops them again; concentrates on riding Jaskier in an admittedly stilted rhythm, because Jaskier’s the one with the fever-bright eyes and too-hot skin, the one who’s been cursed, the one who’s only like this because he chose to associate with Geralt and would never, ever have wanted to do this otherwise. 

Geralt shouldn’t be taking any pleasure from this, no matter if Jaskier wants to give it or not. 

“Don’t want to be petted?” Jaskier sighs, pushing his hands up his thighs, and Geralt doesn’t think about the way that feels, and does his damnedest to keep silent. Jaskier won’t remember, but _he_ will. He’ll know what he did and didn’t do. “Oh, come on, you were making _such_ pretty noises for me, Geralt, don’t stop now. Don’t you know how much I want to hear you?” 

Geralt _hates_ that fucking mage. 

A portal opens, and Yennefer steps through before he even has time to be alarmed. She has blood on her face and looks mildly surprised at the sight of them. 

“Huh,” she says, tilting her head. “Not how I would’ve pictured this going, honestly.” 

“Oh, wonderful, look who’s back,” Jaskier grumbles sourly. “We’re _busy_. Go away.” 

“I can tell,” Yennefer says, coming over and peering down at Geralt. “Are you both alright?” 

He hates that she has to ask. 

“He hasn’t come yet,” Geralt says. 

“That would make sense,” she says. “The flower imparts, well— _virility_.” 

“Of course it does,” Geralt mutters. 

“Yes, I don’t envy you riding tomorrow,” Yennefer says, patting his shoulder. “If you’re lucky, he’ll only have to come once to snap out of it.” 

“And if I’m not?” Geralt asks suspiciously. 

“I don’t envy you riding the day _after_ tomorrow.” 

“Hn.” 

“Yennefer, _honestly_ , do I interrupt when _you’re_ fucking him? No, I don’t, I let you get on with things!” Jaskier complains, pushing himself up on his elbows. Yennefer snorts. “Don’t give me that look!” 

“He’s awfully eloquent,” Yennefer says speculatively. “I was picturing something a bit more . . . bestial.” 

“ _Excuse_ you!” 

“He’s been like this the whole time,” Geralt says. Worse than this, actually, but he doesn’t actually want to mention the whole . . . the collar thing. 

“Yes, yes, keep talking about me like I’m not here, very romantic, Geralt,” Jaskier grumbles, wrapping his arms around Geralt and kissing his chest. Geralt tries not to notice. It’s very hard not to notice, even with his shirt in the way, but not as hard as pretending he hadn’t heard the word “romantic”. “Be a good boy and move again, won’t you?” 

Geralt really doesn’t want to encourage that behavior, but . . . 

“Stop whining,” he says, and gives a few experimental rocks of his hips. It’s . . . not comfortable, honestly, and he grimaces slightly. 

“Did you two even slick yourselves up?” Yennefer asks, looking exasperated. _“Geralt.”_

“Spit,” Geralt says. 

“Of course,” she mutters, then goes over to their bags to start rifling through them. He’d protest, but he’s a little . . . occupied. “Men. Here, get off each other for five seconds, I’m about to make your lives much easier.” 

Geralt grunts, but carefully lifts off of Jaskier’s cock. Jaskier whines in protest and tightens his grip on him. 

“Just a moment,” Geralt murmurs to him, not sure if he’s trying to soothe him or what. Jaskier huffs, burying his face in his chest, and Yennefer comes back over with a vial Geralt doesn’t recognize. It must be Jaskier’s. 

“This’ll work,” she says, holding it out to him. Geralt takes it and opens it. It smells . . . sweet, mostly. It’s some kind of oil, though he doesn’t know what it’s actually for. 

It’s fairly obvious what Yennefer wants him to do with it _now_ , if nothing else. 

“Geralt, come _on_ ,” Jaskier complains, and Geralt carefully pours some of the oil onto his fingers and then wraps them around the other’s cock. “Oh! Promising.” 

“There you go,” Yennefer says approvingly. “Be _merciful_ on yourself, Geralt, don’t you know better than to let a man fuck you dry?” 

“Right,” Geralt says. He’s never actually let a man fuck him before at all, so . . . 

Yennefer’s eyebrows shoot up. He hopes she wasn’t listening to that, but signs point to “yes” on that one. 

He really should’ve thought of using oil, either way. He’s not experienced with men, no, but he’s not a fucking _idiot_ , and Jaskier’s clearly in no state to be worrying about that kind of thing. 

“Geralt, while your hands are lovely, I assure you, I need you to _please_ get back on my dick,” Jaskier says. Geralt eyes the other’s cock, which looks painfully hard in his grip, and decides that yes, that’s probably something he should be doing. He doesn’t know what “virility” is going to translate to but making Jaskier come as efficiently as possible is probably for the best. 

“This won’t take long,” he says. 

“Hopefully,” Yennefer says. She leans over and kisses Geralt’s temple, and he leans into it reflexively. Jaskier scowls at them, then puts his hands on Geralt’s hips and gives a very insistent _tug_. Geralt . . . he goes with it, and ends up with Jaskier’s cock rubbing across his hole, warm and wet and _hard_. 

He would not have expected that to feel as good as it feels. 

“Nn,” he can’t repress, and Jaskier lights up again and pulls his hips down and Geralt lets him, and . . . _“Nn.”_

“Won’t take long, hm?” Jaskier says as his cock pierces Geralt again, somehow feeling even bigger and thicker than he’d remembered. “What if I want it to, Geralt? Maybe I’d _like_ to take a long time with you.” 

“Shut up,” Geralt mutters, gut burning hot at the other’s words, and Yennefer huffs out a laugh. 

“Still a bard, I see,” she says. “Silver tongue and all. Well, at least copper.” 

“Rude,” Jaskier says, and lifts his hips up into Geralt’s, who tries to relax. The oil eases the way, at least, and Jaskier’s cock feels like it’s deeper than before. Geralt tries to move, but the rhythm is still stilted. “Oh, come here, love, tilt your hips a bit. Yes, just like—” 

_“Oh,”_ Geralt chokes, his eyes flaring wide in surprise as Jaskier’s cock drags against . . . _something_ inside him. It feels . . . it’s very . . . 

“Good?” Jaskier asks smugly, with the air of a man who already knows the answer. 

“I _really_ don’t need to know this much about your sex life,” Geralt mutters roughly. 

“Oh, come now, you’ve been around a hundred years, surely you’ve been fucked a few times,” Jaskier says with a laugh. Geralt grits his teeth. “Oh. Oh!” 

He should’ve lied, he thinks. Thinks _especially_ hard when Jaskier gives him this . . . this strange, _soft_ look. 

“The mage is dead, by the way,” Yennefer says, sitting down beside them. She seems largely uninterested in the fact that they’re fucking, but considering the circumstances they met under . . . 

“Figured,” Geralt manages. “You’ve got blood . . .” He gestures at his own face. 

“Do I?” Yennefer dabs at her face with a fingertip, and hums when it comes away a tacky red. “So I do. Anyway. Clearly that didn’t affect the spell.” 

“It did not,” Geralt agrees with a grunt as Jaskier’s cock sinks in just that little bit deeper on his next thrust. Jaskier still smells like those strange flowers, and also, of course, is still doing _this_. 

“I suppose it is a curse, technically,” Yennefer says, resting her chin in her hands. “Makes sense it’d last.” 

“Is there a reason you’re here?” Jaskier asks irritably. 

“You two weren’t even using oil,” she says dryly. “That’s the reason I’m here.” 

“Yen—” Geralt starts, and Jaskier pulls his hips down _hard_. He’s so used to going with the other’s urging that he goes with that, too, and gasps at the feeling of it, the sudden _fullness_ of it. 

“Just my name,” Jaskier says firmly, holding him tight. “Nobody else’s.” 

“I wonder if the jealous streak is normal,” Yennefer muses. Jaskier shoots her a glower. 

“That’s just good manners,” he says, then very clearly makes the deliberate decision to ignore her and pushes his mouth into Geralt’s chest again, pushing his hands up his back. Geralt wraps his arms around his shoulders, like an idiot. “You’ll only say my name, right, puppy?” 

_“Puppy”?_ Yennefer mouths, her eyebrows raising again. Geralt decides to ignore that, at least. 

“Jaskier,” he says, because Yennefer said to give Jaskier what he wants, and also because it’s so damn hard _not_ to say it. 

“Good _boy_ ,” Jaskier purrs, looking up at him with heavy-lidded eyes that make the heat in Geralt’s stomach burn even hotter. He bites the inside of his cheek. Jaskier kisses his chest again. Geralt wonders if he’d kiss _him_ again, if . . . 

Jaskier wraps his hand around Geralt’s cock again, and Geralt hates himself for not stopping him. 

“You don’t need to do that,” he manages, at least. 

“But you’re being so good,” Jaskier croons, nuzzling into his throat. “Don’t you deserve a little treat?” 

“Fuck,” Geralt mutters, gut _burning_. 

“You may as well let him, he’s just going to whine if you don’t,” Yennefer says reasonably. Geralt tries not to glare at her, but definitely ends up glaring at her. He can handle some damn whining. It’d be—better. 

It’s very hard to argue with Jaskier’s hand wrapped around his dick, though. 

“Really,” he says. “You don’t have to.” 

“I _want_ to,” Jaskier says before mouthing at his throat, and Geralt feels . . . a lot of things, really, but forces himself to grab the other’s wrist again. “Mmm, _Geralt_ , come on.” 

“Told you he’d whine,” Yennefer says. 

“Not helping,” Geralt hisses at her. He pulls Jaskier’s hand away from his cock and puts it on his hip again, which seems like less damning territory, and says, “Show me what to do.” 

Jaskier’s sullen expression immediately morphs into a delighted one, and he grins up at him so _warmly_ — 

Geralt bites back the way that makes him feel, and lets Jaskier guide his hips into a slow, steady rhythm. The way his cock drags inside him is a problem, definitely, but it’s better than letting the other touch _his_ cock, which isn’t getting any softer even going neglected. 

He actually feels harder, if anything. That _cannot_ be normal. 

“Fucking bards,” he mutters absentmindedly, and Jaskier pulls him down so low he bottoms out, and somehow the knowledge that Jaskier’s as deep as he can get inside him sends a shudder all the way through Geralt, straight to his fucking traitor of a dick, which spits precome. 

Jaskier isn’t even _touching_ it, dammit. 

But he’s in him, in him so deep, in him like he _wants_ to be there, and . . . 

Geralt takes a breath and steadies himself. He does _not_ let the pathetic sound in the back of his throat out of his mouth. He keeps moving his hips the way Jaskier directed him to, and is far too aware of the other’s cock moving inside him. 

“Good boy,” Jaskier says warmly, and Geralt does _not_ shudder. 

“Is he?” Yennefer says idly, reaching out to brush Geralt’s hair out of his eyes for him. He tries not to think anything too damning about . . . either of them, actually. 

“What kind of question is that?” Jaskier says, giving her a scathing look before looking up at Geralt almost . . . _adoringly_ , almost, which is not an expression Geralt typically sees without paying someone for it, and takes him a moment to recognize. “You’re good, aren’t you, puppy?” 

“Mm,” Geralt says, gritting his teeth. Jaskier kisses his throat; draws a hand down his chest. 

“So good. You’re doing wonderfully,” he says approvingly. Geralt doesn’t make a sound, but he can’t control the way his cock twitches, and Yennefer makes an intrigued noise. “You take my cock so _well_." 

“You really do like that, don’t you,” Yennefer muses. “If I’d known a little praise would get you that hard . . .” 

“This is not the time,” Geralt says through gritted teeth. 

“Oh, he won’t remember anyway,” she says, waving him off. “Don’t feel bad about enjoying sex, Geralt, even Jaskier would tell you to have a good time.” 

“We don’t know that, because he can’t _say_ ,” Geralt says. 

“I’m fairly sure I can, actually,” Jaskier says. “You should absolutely be having a good time. I want you to _love_ it.” 

“Jaskier,” Geralt says tightly, fisting his hands against the other’s back. “You know you’re not in your right mind.” 

“My mind feels very right,” Jaskier says, nuzzling his throat. “Keep moving like that and it’ll feel even better.” 

Geralt bites back a frustrated noise, but keeps moving. Jaskier needs to burn through this. His skin’s already much too hot for a healthy human’s, and his eyes still look hazy and heavy, and . . . 

“You heard the man,” Yennefer says, getting up again and stepping behind Geralt. She puts her hands on his shoulders, smoothing across them. Geralt twists his neck to look back at her as she leans over him. She’s smiling indulgently. 

“He’s _compromised_ ,” Geralt bites off. 

“And that’s unfortunate, but doesn’t change the fact he still needs to get off and you might as well not hate the process,” Yennefer says. 

“I don’t hate it,” Geralt says, his cock throbbing near-painfully. That’s the problem. 

“Oh, Geralt,” she says tenderly, squeezing his shoulders. “You idiot.” 

“Don’t worry so much,” Jaskier says, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “It feels good, doesn’t it? And you’re _doing_ so good. Don’t worry about anything else. You’re always worrying.” 

Geralt bites the inside of his cheek, struggling not to tense or moan. Yennefer kisses his forehead, and Jaskier kisses his throat. 

“You’re taking care of things,” Yennefer says near-soothingly. “The mage is dead. Jaskier’s safe. Everything’s going to be fine.” 

“Better than fine, at the moment,” Jaskier agrees with her, which is probably a first and further proof he’s not in his right mind. He strokes Geralt’s thighs. “You’re being so good for me. Such a good boy.” 

“Not a dog,” Geralt says tightly. “Not a _pet_.” 

“You’d be such a good one, though,” Jaskier croons, nuzzling his throat again. “So obedient, too, the way you fuck yourself for me. I love it, puppy.” 

“Don’t,” Geralt says roughly. He rocks his hips faster, not quite on purpose but—Jaskier needs to come. Jaskier needs to come before _he_ fucking _loses_ it. 

“I really would get you the prettiest collar,” Jaskier says fondly, catching his necklace and giving it a pointed tug. “You deserve something pretty. Something to show who you belong to.” 

“Oh, he belongs to someone, now?” Yennefer says lightly. 

“Yes,” Jaskier says, simple and matter-of-fact, and Geralt _hates_ the part of himself that shudders at that; the part of himself that wants to lean into Jaskier and let him touch him wherever he likes and kiss him fucking _blind_. “See? He knows.” 

“Do tell,” Yennefer says, stroking his shoulders again. Geralt doesn’t look at her, and tries not to look at Jaskier. It’s . . . not easy. Not with either of them. 

“Good boy,” Jaskier says, trailing a finger down Geralt’s face. Geralt grits his teeth instead of leaning into it, and fucks himself faster, and _aches_. “Oh, _such_ a good boy. You take my cock like you were made for it.” 

“I can’t, I can’t,” Geralt says, not even sure what he’s talking about, and Jaskier kisses his jaw. 

“You can,” he says. “You’re doing so good, puppy.” 

Geralt chokes. Jaskier puts his hands on his hips and mouths up his neck. Geralt tightens his arms around his neck; can’t help it. Jaskier makes an encouraging noise against his ear, his breath hot and close, and Geralt doesn’t mean to, but he _moans_. All he can smell is Jaskier and Yennefer and sex and those _fucking flowers_. 

“I love that you’re loud,” Jaskier purrs, stroking Geralt’s hips. “Makes me want to fuck you ‘til you _scream_.” 

“Learning all sorts of exciting new things today, aren’t we,” Yennefer muses, smoothing Geralt’s hair back off his forehead as Jaskier bites his throat. His fucking useless body _shakes_ between them. “Oh, isn’t that lovely.” 

“I can’t,” Geralt says again, and Jaskier cups his face in his hands and tugs him down to be kissed, and he claws at the other’s back and fucks himself faster, and faster, and—

He _moans_. 

"Good boy," Jaskier murmurs again, kissing him deeper, tangling his hands in his hair. Geralt's not getting sick of hearing that. He should be. "Beg, puppy." 

"Please," Geralt says before he can stop himself, gasping for breath, and Jaskier _purrs_. 

"Please what?" he asks. Geralt groans, snapping his hips down. The rhythm isn't hard to keep anymore, but his thighs are starting to ache, which is saying something for a witcher. _Fuck_ the "virility" thing. 

"Please fucking _come_ ," he says roughly. 

"You want that?" Jaskier says breathlessly, stroking his hair back. "Want me to come inside you?" 

_"Fuck,"_ Geralt says, because that absolutely was not what he meant and _yet_ . . . 

"You deserve it," Jaskier says, kissing him again. "You've been such a good boy." 

Geralt is fucking _dying_. That's what's happening here. 

"Come in me," he says, not sure if he's just repeating Jaskier or . . . or something else. Yennefer's hands are still on his shoulders. It's fine. It's fine. Jaskier will come, and it'll be fine. He'll burn through the fever, and it'll be fine. 

"Of course I will," Jaskier says, and wraps his hand around his cock again and _strokes_ —

Geralt curses, and _comes_ , and Jaskier works him through it. Geralt makes too many damn noises he can't hold back and Jaskier kisses his throat and jaw adoringly and holds him close as he shudders. 

"Fuck," Geralt manages. 

"Any way you'd like, puppy," Jaskier purrs, licking—fucking _licking_!—his hand clean. Geralt feels like he could fall over. His thighs are _trembling_. "Just a little more for me, and I'll give you what you want, okay?" 

"Okay," Geralt gets out, and then Jaskier's guiding him back into moving his hips again and _oh_ —

"Good boy, good boy," Jaskier is murmuring into his throat, and Geralt is still trembling and just—holds onto him. "So good for me, aren't you, yes you are. My good, good boy." 

Geralt makes some fucking _embarrassing_ noises, but it's hard to care. Jaskier's hands are so hot on his hips, Jaskier's mouth feels so good against his throat, and _he_ feels so good, sore and aching and practically fucking _blissful_ with it. He moans, and doesn't even try to hold it back. 

"Oh, _Geralt_ ," Jaskier sighs, and comes inside him just like he promised. The sound Geralt makes at that is not a normal sound; not stifled, not muffled, not something containable. Jaskier croons at him in reply, and Geralt lifts himself off him with shaking thighs and moves aside. Jaskier puts a hand on his flank and he somehow ends up on his belly in the dirt again and Jaskier eats him out all slow licks and lazy indulgence. Geralt's never been eaten out in his fucking _life_ , much less like this. 

"I think once may not have been enough," Yennefer says. 

"You _think_?" Geralt hisses shakily, his fingers digging into the ground. Jaskier kisses the base of his spine. 

"You did such a good job," he says, leaning up over him and pressing his cock against his—between his—

"Fuck," Geralt says again. Jaskier is _still hard_. How the fuck? 

"Virility," Yennefer says, not unsympathetically. Geralt groans in frustration, tilting his hips up for easier access, and Jaskier fucking _croons_ at him and pushes back in. 

Fuck. 

"You're so good," Jaskier says reverently. "So tight and hot inside, so sweet, so _obedient_. I want to keep you at the foot of my bed and fuck you awake every morning." 

Jaskier doesn't even _have_ a fucking bed, and Geralt's still moaning at hearing that. He wishes he could blame the flowers. 

"So loud for me," Jaskier murmurs in that same reverent tone, and Geralt can't be anything but. It's too much, he can't come from it again, but oh, oh, _oh_ —"Yes, just like that, don't stop, I want to hear it all." 

_"Jaskier,"_ Geralt chokes, and Jaskier nuzzles the back of his neck. 

"Geralt," he says with a snap of his hips. 

Geralt groans. Jaskier kisses his shoulder and fucks him harder, urgent and greedy. It feels _good_. It feels like he's—like he's being—

"My good boy," Jaskier husks again, and Geralt hides his face in his arms and tries to remember how to breathe. It's not happening. Yennefer sits down in front of him and strokes his hair soothingly. It . . . helps, he thinks. Gives him something to focus on besides the hot drag of Jaskier's cock in his ass and the noises he can't stop making. 

Jaskier fucks him 'til he comes again and then fingers him 'til _Geralt_ feels like he could come again and then Jaskier pulls him to his hands and knees and fucks him _again_ , and that he does come for—without even being touched, he comes for that. It wrings a longer and slower and near-painful orgasm out of his aching body. 

Because he's fucking _aching_. From fucking a _human_ , he's aching. 

He doesn't want to admit the way he feels about that. 

Geralt loses track of time a bit somewhere between Jaskier near-obsessively fucking him and Yennefer stroking his hair and has never felt so . . . never been so _focused_ on, it feels like. Never had this much attention. He doesn't know how he feels about it, except he fucking _came_ for it so apparently he does, apparently he's just fine with it. 

Fuck. 

"So good," Jaskier says tenderly, stroking down his spine, and comes in him again. Geralt moans, his hips stuttering. He feels wrung out and wrung dry and he wants so, _so_ badly to—

Jaskier _curses_. 

" _There_ we go," Yennefer says. Geralt looks back over his shoulder blurrily, still aching, and Jaskier chokes and flings himself back from him, leaving Geralt open and empty and shaken. 

He tries to recover, but that's a very hard thing to recover from so suddenly. 

"Jaskier?" he rasps. "You in there?" 

"Geralt?!" Jaskier sputters, staring at him in shock. Geralt wants to collapse, just a bit. Or a lot. He barely manages not to, either way. 

"Seems like a rude awakening," he mutters, forcing himself to push his body into a sitting position. Yennefer kisses his cheek. 

"Mm, a bit," she says. "Relax, bard, nobody got hurt." 

"Are you alright?" Geralt asks. 

"Am _I_ alright?!" Jaskier demands as he fixes his clothes, sounding scandalized. "I should be asking you that! What _happened_?!" 

"Oh, not much," Yennefer says casually. 

"Curse," Geralt says shortly. 

_"Neither of those answers are helpful!"_

Geralt grimaces. He tries to figure out if he can get to his feet and go get his pants yet, but probably not without shaking, and he doesn't want Jaskier to see that. Also, he _really_ needs to clean up before he gets dressed again. 

"It's fine," he says. "It was a curse. We dealt with it." 

"A what, a _sex_ curse?!" Jaskier demands. 

"Yes." Geralt debates getting up again but still isn't sure how well he'd manage it. His legs feel like jelly. 

"More information, please!" Jaskier says, looking stressed. Geralt's used to the question, but usually it's for a ballad, not . . . "Why a curse? Why a _sex_ curse? And why in _hell_ was I fucking you?!" 

"You wanted to," Geralt says. 

"I want lots of things you don't let me have!" Jaskier says. 

"You needed to burn through the curse," Yennefer says. "You would've died." 

"Probably," Geralt says. 

"Probably," she agrees. 

"So you let me have sex with you so I wouldn't _probably_ die," Jaskier says, patting himself down anxiously. "Oh, that's horrible. That's really, really horrible." 

Geralt grimaces. 

"You were . . . fixated," he says. "We thought the best thing to do was just give you what you wanted." 

"What I _wanted_ ," Jaskier says, looking dazed. "Which was to fuck you. With my cock. _You_." 

Geralt tries not to grimace again. He isn't sure it works. 

"Among other things," Yennefer says agreeably. 

_"Other things?!"_

"Yennefer . . ." Geralt grimaces after all. Yennefer smiles pleasantly. 

"You called him a good puppy," she informs Jaskier, who turns bright red in mortification. 

"Please tell me she's lying," he says to Geralt in a strangled voice. Geralt really wishes he could. "Hell. I am— _so_ sorry. For that. And everything, apparently. But especially that. I would absolutely never call you that in— _ever_." 

"I know," Geralt says, and ignores the part of himself that twinges with . . . something. 

Jaskier looks at him. His eyes flick down, just for a moment, and he turns red again. Geralt looks down too. There's come on his thighs. 

Jaskier's, obviously. 

"Hn," he says, and absentmindedly wipes a hand through it in a useless attempt to get rid of it. Jaskier makes a strangled sound. 

"Here." Yennefer offers him a cloth from who-knows-where, and Geralt cleans himself up the best he can with it. Jaskier is looking . . . _everywhere_ else, it seems. Geralt can't exactly blame him. 

"It's fine," he says. "It's dealt with. Don't worry about it." 

"Don't worry about how I fucked you," Jaskier says, slightly hysterically. "Right! Of course not! What's to worry about?!" 

"It was a curse," Geralt says. "Curses happen." 

" _Sex_ curses happen," Jaskier says. "Sex curses that make me call you degrading endearments." 

Geralt grimaces. That's not . . . 

He didn't feel degraded. 

He doesn't want to say that, obviously, but he's not sure what else to say. The words just aren't coming. 

"The degrading endearments were probably all you, actually," Yennefer says. 

"Hell," Jaskier says, covering his horrified expression with his hands. "I mean it, Geralt, I'd _never_ —" 

"You did," Yennefer interrupts mildly. "Admittedly while half mad on magical hormones, but you did. Several times. You also offered to get him a collar." 

"You can just kill me," Jaskier says, not moving his hands. "I would absolutely understand. In fact, where are your swords, let me go get them for you." 

"I don't know, I think it'd suit him," Yennefer says musingly, putting a finger to the hollow of Geralt's collarbone. He swallows. That's not . . . 

"I'm not going to kill you," he says. 

"Are you sure?" Jaskier asks. "I could actually just do it myself, save you the trouble. Just leave my body on the ground, it's fine, entirely deserved, really, I—"

_"Jaskier,"_ Geralt snaps. "Shut up." 

Jaskier shuts up. Geralt gets to his feet and his legs do _not_ wobble. He feels a drip of come leak out of him and turns his face to hide his grimace from Jaskier. The other makes a strangled noise again. 

"I'm going to get cleaned up," Geralt says. There's a lake not too far from their campsite. He can bathe, and Jaskier can recover his dignity, and they can just . . . never talk about this again. Ever. Maybe if he's lucky there'll be a monster needing killed between then and now. 

"Don't want to talk this out?" Yennefer says lightly, standing up beside him. Jaskier gets up too, looking awkward. 

"I really am so _very_ sorry," he says. "I know you'd never—that you aren't—I appreciate it. Very much. You probably should've just let me probably die but you didn't, and that's . . . I appreciate it." 

"Hn," Geralt says, too aware of the fact that he's still full of Jaskier's come and probably going to have love-bite bruises from him. It makes it hard to think of a better response. 

"I can leave," Jaskier says. "I can definitely, uh, do that. I know you must've—hated it. Obviously." 

Geralt turns his head to scowl at him. What the hell is he talking about? 

"Oh, relax, Jaskier, you took perfectly good care of him," Yennefer says. "Well, after I reminded the two of you that oil existed, at least." 

"Took _care_ of him," Jaskier says, back to that strangled voice. "Meaning—" 

"He didn't hate it," Yennefer says. "Clearly." 

"I didn't," Geralt agrees lowly, though admitting it makes his hackles rise. Still, if Jaskier thinks he _did_ . . . 

He didn't. 

That's the problem, really. Jaskier was out of his mind on a magical flower curse and Geralt took _pleasure_ from it; from something he'd never do sane and sober. That's not right. 

But he did it. 

"You didn't hate it?" Jaskier asks, something odd in his voice. Confusion, maybe. It sounds a bit like confusion. 

"No," Geralt says, waiting for the other's disgust, offense, betrayal. It's the least of what he deserves, for _liking_ that. No matter how much Jaskier seemed like himself, he wasn't. 

"Oh." Jaskier looks around the campsite, then back to him. "Good." 

Geralt . . . blinks. Jaskier looks— _relieved_ , almost. 

"Good to know I have some manners even when magically deranged, I suppose," Jaskier says, folding his arms and clearly trying to sound casual. "At least I gave you a reach-around." 

"You didn't need to," Geralt says. Jaskier pauses, then turns absolutely _scarlet_. 

"Oh," he says. "You can come without— _oh_." 

"Learning all sorts of new things about each other today, aren't we?" Yennefer says mock-brightly. Jaskier shoots her a look full of _daggers_. 

"Why are you even here?" he says. "What, were you _watching_?" 

"Yes," she says calmly. "You were magically deranged. You might've hurt him, and he wouldn't have stopped you." 

Jaskier looks ill. Geralt sighs. 

"You didn't hurt me," he says. 

"Really? Because apparently I forgot oil existed and told you I wanted to put a collar on you and did _hell_ knows what else," Jaskier says. "And called you _names_ , just to rub it in." 

"That's not what you did," Geralt says. 

"Well, he did most of it," Yennefer says. "But you were less name-calling and more . . . hm, I don't know, what would you call that, Geralt? Praising?" 

"Praising," Jaskier echos. 

"'You're doing so good, puppy'," Yennefer supplies helpfully. Jaskier covers his face again. "That kind of thing." 

"Of course," Jaskier mutters. "First I harass you into bed and then I _praise_ you for it." 

"More or less," Yennefer says. Jaskier groans, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. 

"Of course!" he says. "Of course. Why wouldn't I." 

"It's fine," Geralt says. 

"You're not wearing pants," Jaskier says accusingly, dropping his hands to point at him. "You're not wearing pants because I _fucked_ you." 

"Among other things," Yennefer says agreeably. 

"I don't want to know what that means!" Jaskier hisses. Geralt would tell him if he did, obviously, but if he doesn't . . . 

Mm. 

"I am _so_ sorry," Jaskier says. 

"Don't be," Geralt says. He's the only reason Jaskier got cursed at all. 

"I think I should be, in fact!" Jaskier says. "Just because I got you off doesn't make it _okay_! You'd never have wanted to do that!" 

"Hn," Geralt says. 

Jaskier never asked. 

"Geralt!" Jaskier says in frustration. "This is not the moment to keep quiet!" 

Geralt does _not_ remember the other telling him to be loud for him. 

Or doing it. 

He swallows, roughly, and leans over to grab his pants off the ground. Jaskier makes a _noise_ , and Geralt pretends not to hear it. 

"I'm leaving," he says, and turns to head for the lake. 

"Hold on!" Jaskier protests, running after him. Geralt exhales, and turns on him. 

“What, Jaskier?” he asks tightly, and the other draws up short. 

“I just—I’m _sorry_ ,” he says. “I know it’s not . . . enough, I just . . .” 

“I came,” Geralt tells him. “Twice.” 

Jaskier turns red again. Geralt grits his teeth. 

“ _I’m_ sorry,” he says. “It felt good. It shouldn’t have.” 

“I mean, that’s better than it feeling _bad_ ,” Jaskier says. “I’d much rather you felt good than the alternative.” 

“It doesn’t _matter_ , Jaskier,” Geralt says. “It was something you never would’ve done in your right mind, and _I enjoyed it_.” 

“Enjoyed?” Jaskier’s expression goes . . . odd. 

“Yes,” Geralt says. Jaskier fucked him until he came inside him and called him his good boy, complimented the way he took his cock, and he _enjoyed_ it. All of it. It felt good. 

“That’s not a bad thing, you realize,” Jaskier says, stepping in closer. Geralt fists his hands at his sides. It is. It’s one of the worst things he’s ever done, finding pleasure in something like that. It doesn’t matter how Jaskier looked, or sounded, or spoke—it _wasn’t him_. 

He doesn’t even remember what he did. 

“Anyway, you saved my life,” Jaskier says. “I am really not concerned about you enjoying the process too much.” 

“He does have a point,” Yennefer says. Geralt looks at both of them and wonders why they’re still here. Why either of them have ever been here at all. 

“You wouldn’t have done it if you’d been in your right mind,” he says. 

“Well, no, because I would’ve expected you’d sooner break me in half,” Jaskier says reasonably. “Not that you would’ve let me do whatever I wanted. Which obviously _you_ wouldn’t have done if I hadn’t gone and gotten myself cursed, somehow. How _did_ I get cursed, actually, no one mentioned that part.” 

“Mage,” Geralt says shortly. 

“Very illuminating, as always.” 

“Yennefer already took care of them,” Geralt says. “Don’t worry about it.” 

“Oh, that’s a shame, I’d have liked to get in a few kicks,” Jaskier muses, then glances at his face. “I really didn’t hurt you? I realize this is a ridiculous question coming from a man you could probably lift with one arm, but all the same.” 

“You didn’t,” Geralt says. 

“Well . . . good,” Jaskier says. “You can stop feeling . . . _guilty_ , or whatever it is you’re feeling. I’ve suffered far worse fates than bedding an attractive man in front of an attractive woman, as I am sure you are aware.” 

“You wouldn’t have done that, either,” Geralt says. 

“No, I’ve definitely done that before,” Jaskier said, shaking his head. “Several times. Doesn’t get old, honestly, though obviously I prefer _remembering_ it.” 

“Mm,” Geralt says. It’d been fairly obvious that Jaskier knew how to fuck a man much better than Geralt knew how to be fucked by one, but hearing him outright _say_ it . . . 

“Please tell me you’re not going to be irrational about me sleeping with men,” Jaskier says, eyeing him guardedly. 

“The irony would be a bit much, don’t you think?” Yennefer drawls, and Jaskier shoots her a scowl. 

“I’m not _implying_ anything—” he starts. Geralt interrupts before they can get going. When they start really sniping at each other it can take all day. 

“You don’t have to imply the obvious,” he says. 

“Okay, for starters, coming a couple times has absolutely nothing to do with actual attraction,” Jaskier says, gesturing pointedly. “And it’s not as if you’re attracted to _me_ , obviously!” 

Geralt says nothing. Yennefer’s expression is downright pitying. Jaskier . . . pauses. 

“You’re not attracted to me,” he says. “Right?” 

“I told you,” Geralt says. “I enjoyed it.” 

“Oh,” Jaskier says, blinking slowly. _“Oh.”_

“I’m going to the lake,” Geralt says. 

“Wait, no, I need to kiss you,” Jaskier says feelingly, reaching out to grab his arm. “I definitely need to kiss you.” 

“You _what_?” Geralt says. 

“You’re stupid and I need to kiss you,” Jaskier says. “Assuming you’re willing to be kissed, obviously.” 

“. . . yes,” Geralt says, mostly mystified and a little bit just wanting to see what Jaskier’s going to do. 

Kiss him, it turns out. Jaskier throws his arms around his neck and leans up into him and puts his mouth on his, and kisses him. Geralt makes a startled noise despite himself, one that comes out too vulnerable, and Jaskier leans back. 

“Oh, are you loud?” he asks in surprise. “You never told me you were _loud_.” 

“Ngh,” Geralt says. Jaskier kisses him again. It’s exactly like it was when he untied him, which is a lot to process. Yennefer makes a mildly interested noise. 

“You really need to tell me what I did to you,” Jaskier says, cupping his face in his hands. “Though I suppose you could just let me try to figure it out myself.” 

“Figure it out?” Geralt says, a little more faintly than he'd like. Jaskier drops a hand to his ass and very pointedly _squeezes_ , and he can’t quite bite back the groan. 

"Was that a question or a preference?" Jaskier asks lightly. Geralt stares down at him, not sure what to say. Jaskier still has a hand on his ass, for one thing, and seems perfectly content to leave it there. 

"I vote preference," Yennefer says with a wicked smile. Geralt shoots her a look; Jaskier looks speculative. 

"It's not a vote," Geralt says. 

"Are you sure, because I'm leaning preference myself," Jaskier hints. "If you vote for it too then we'll be downright _unanimous_." 

"Hn," Geralt says. He is not helped by Jaskier squeezing his ass again, but he doesn't actually want to stop him doing it either. That's very low on the list of things he wants to stop right now. 

"I'm assuming we're both physically incapable of going another round right now, given the way I feel, but we could certainly put a pin in it," Jaskier says. 

"I could," Geralt says. Jaskier looks delighted. 

"Witchers have a fair bit of stamina," Yennefer drawls with a smile. 

"That's the nicest thing I've ever heard you say," Jaskier says. "Like a _present_." 

"It's not a present," Geralt says. 

"Maybe not to _you_." 

"You can't get it up again anyway," Geralt says dubiously. 

"If you think my enjoyment in the bedroom is limited to getting my own rocks off you are sorely mistaken," Jaskier informs him. 

"You did seem to enjoy a few other things," Yennefer says. "But before the two of you decide to fuck yourselves to death in the great outdoors, why don't we go somewhere with an actual room and a roof, mmm?" 

"Technically didn't invite you," Jaskier says. Yennefer laughs. 

"I'm inviting _you_ ," she says. He glowers at her. She smiles beatifically back. Geralt has some . . . complicated feelings. About both of them. At once. 

. . . _not like that_. 

"I'm getting cleaned up," he says. "Then we can ride for town." 

He doesn't want to even _suggest_ anything complicated, but . . . 

"And get a room," he adds in a mutter. 

Jaskier and Yennefer give him matching grins. He does not examine the way that makes him feel in any way whatsoever. 

"Going to be a good puppy for us, Geralt?" Yennefer asks slyly, and he frowns. That seems . . . complicated. 

But . . .

"Maybe," he says warily. 

"Well, I may die of mortification now that you know I'm into that but it's going to be _so_ hot," Jaskier sighs happily. He gives Geralt another kiss, then lets go of him and steps back. Geralt misses him immediately, and stomps on the feeling for his own good. Yennefer leans in and tugs him down by the necklace to be kissed again, which doesn't help with stomping down his feelings at all. 

"I'm going to enjoy this, I hope you know," she says with a smirk. 

"Yes, that is generally the goal of this kind of thing," Jaskier says. "Sorry we can't throw an entire orgy for you this time but I'm sure you'll manage." 

Yennefer laughs, and Jaskier makes a face at her. Geralt feels a strange warmth in his chest, and can't figure out which of them to blame.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr!](http://suzukiblu.tumblr.com/)


End file.
